The Lover - 3 of #Seven Ages

"And then the lover, 

Sighing like furnace, 

with a woeful ballad 

Made to his mistress' eyebrow."

Source: Deviantart

Scores of students poured into the corridor right after the bell. He stood by the pillar outside her classroom door, waiting. He wasn't disappointed, for she came out soon enough with her girlfriends on either side. A strand of soft, silky hair parted from her head, gently tickling her cheeks. Her fingers rose to push the strand away, when suddenly a shadow fell upon her. She halted to look up, and met his gaze.

There was a commotion in the corridor as the sea of students halted to feast on the interesting scene. But he did not care. To him, only she mattered. Her girlfriends had taken a step backwards, giggling all the way. He realized that he had been gaping at her for longer than he had intended.
"Yeah?" she questioned, with raised eyebrows.

He cleared his throat, trying to hide how nervous he was. Slowly, he unfolded the piece of paper in his hand, mostly to avoid awkward eye contact rather than for the fear of forgetting his lines. And then, he began -
"In my life for once,
 heaven had I now seen.
Trust me as I speak,
Your very eyes it had been.
My heart is in your smiles,
My days shine in your light.
For you, I'd travel miles
No matter day or night.
So I think you should know too,
That dear, I love you."

He looked up expectantly, wishing the murmurs in the background could miraculously turn into Bollywood music. "I wrote it for you." he said, just in case it wasn't obvious. He was pleased to find her blushing. Surely, she couldn't deny that she was impressed. But somehow she looked unconvinced.

"Look" she spoke in her divine voice, "I'm sorry, but I don't know you yet. So..." her head tilted ever so cutely as she shook it conveying a clear 'no'. He watched her walk away with a sigh. Looked like he needed more than just a poem to win her.

With no love, he knew no life. 

For love, he'd take the knife. 

He lived now the third age, 

With four more yet to engage.

***

This post is the third of a seven part series on the Seven Ages of Man (from Shakespeare's 'As You Like It')

Read all Seven Posts -

1. The Infant
2. The School Boy
3. The Lover
4. The Soldier
5. The Justice
6. The Pantaloon
7. The Second Childhood

Linking with Write Tribe's Festival of Words for a Seven Day Blogging Challenge.

The School Boy - 2 of #Seven Ages

"Then, the whining school boy with his satchel 

And shining morning face, creeping like a snail 

Unwilling to school."

Source: Pinterest

It was six in the morning, and as usual his ears failed to register the sound of the alarm. His senses in the morning only responded to his mother's hollering from the kitchen.

"Five...more...minutes" he mumbled, not conscious enough to know that no one would hear him. And then, just as his mother appeared to beat the sleep out of him, his eyes popped open and he sprang out of his blankets like magic.

Furiously brushing his teeth, he silently wished yet again that there be an unexpected holiday in school. He promised to god that he'll definitely complete Miss Jane's homework then, for he was only in want of time. It's just that he simply couldn't have missed  that Pokemon episode. He'd meant to do the work later on but had fallen asleep. That wasn't his fault now was it?

Another bellowing from the kitchen broke his train of thought as he rushed back into his room to don his school uniform. He had five minutes to pack his bag, find a pair of matching socks, polish his shoes and have his food before the school bus arrived. It always seemed impossible to him, but every time his momma came to the rescue and got all things done for him in a jiffy, sadly never leaving him an opportunity to miss his school bus.

As he stood all groomed up at the door waiting for the bus, he still had the tiniest ray of hope for the bus to break down midway and not show up. Unfortunately, he never did have that good luck. He watched with a sigh as the bus honked its way through to him, all perfect and working. But his spirits returned to him once he noticed his friends beaming at him through the windows.

Who cared about Miss Jane or her homework after all?! He had his friends to meet in school, and plenty of fun to have. Surely, he couldn't miss that for anything!

His world revolved from home to school 

He liked no row nor rule 

The second age, his life was through 

He now had five more too!

*** 

This post is the second of a seven part series on the Seven Ages of Man (from Shakespeare's 'As You Like It')

Read all Seven Posts -

1. The Infant
2. The School Boy
3. The Lover
4. The Soldier
5. The Justice
6. The Pantaloon
7. The Second Childhood

Linking with Write Tribe's Festival of Words for a Seven Day Blogging Challenge.

The Infant - 1 of #Seven Ages

"And one man in his time plays many parts,  

His acts being seven ages."

Greetings dear wanderer, we're about to embark on the journey of life through seven ages. The world has come to know of it through Shakespeare, and here we shall travel along with his words. So here goes the beginning...the very first stage.

"At first the infant, 

Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms."

Source: photobucket

There in the crib surrounded by a crowd lay the sweet little baby. He stirred with the slightest effort, the tiny limbs digging gently into the soft cushions. With eyes so wide, one could tell he was trying hard to make out what he saw around him. A chorus of 'awww' followed as he looked on with the greatest wonder in his eyes.

They were bobbing their heads with widened eyes. How funny they looked! These people were making noises with their mouths, and he wondered how they did that. He tried to do it too, moving his mouth every other way. But the best he could splutter out was a mild 'ggah!'. He felt considerably proud of his feat though, and looked up at them expectantly. But sadly, nobody had noticed.

He now found a small round thing next to him and began inspecting it with utmost keenness.
"Ooh you've got a lovely ball haven't you?!" exclaimed one of them from up there. He looked up at them, trying to decipher what he had just heard, and maybe imitate it too.

'Ggah!' he managed to say again. This time when he looked up, there was his mama beaming down at him. "Mama!" she exclaimed, "Can you say that? Maa-maa!"
He noticed her lips sealing and then parting again. Gathering what little energy he had, he pressed his tiny lips and tore them apart with a small effort, and out came the sound "mmah!"

Delighted, his mama scooped him up and planted a kiss on his face. He beamed with joy. Mama was happy. He too was happy. But all the effort had left him exhausted. His eyelids grew heavy and slowly slid down as his consciousness plunged into a far off dreamland.

Joy and wonder was all he knew 

And then the cries and wails a few 

His age the first, six more to go 

Innocence a whole, his life was so!

This post is the first of a seven part series on the Seven Ages of Man (from Shakespeare's 'As You Like It')

Read all Seven Posts -

1. The Infant
2. The School Boy
3. The Lover
4. The Soldier
5. The Justice
6. The Pantaloon
7. The Second Childhood

Linking with Write Tribe's Festival of Words for a Seven Day Blogging Challenge.

Richer than the Rich

"Why do you look upset dear?" the voice was heavy with concern. The little girl in rags looked up at the tall lady standing before her. She had tight jeans and a sleeveless tee on with a pair of sunglasses that matched with her outfit. A beaded bag with a slightly torn zipper hung over her shoulder. "What's the matter?" she asked again.

The little girl took a few steps back, clutching a poker in her hand. She couldn't understand why this strange lady was talking to her. "Do you need something fixed?" she asked the lady, shooting furtive glances behind her at the same time. It was only then that the lady noticed the few torn shoes and bags at her feet along with some repairing tools. Fumbling through her beaded bag, she dished out some cash and handed it out to her, only to find the little girl shaking her head. "Do you need something fixed?" she repeated, still with worried glances across the road.

The lady stared at this shabby kid who must be all of eight years old, living in the roadside, and refusing money. "Are you expecting someone?" she asked her, following her anxious glances. The girl looked suddenly frightened as her eyes darted back to the stranger.
"A-are you here to take me too??" she stammered. The lady found this reaction to be quite strange. She knelt down and touched her hand, "I'm here to help."

The girl sprang back in horror. No stranger had ever come close to her, much less touch her! "What do you want?" she cried, "Dada's missing! They took him! I know they did! I won't let you take me too!" The lady knew now that she needed help. "Who took your Dada?" she asked patiently, " We'll find him together." The little girl  only looked on with great suspicion.

Then, quite hesitantly, she began to speak up, "They came here the other day, telling us not to work anymore. They told us to beg instead. They said, that way, they'd make us rich!"

The lady was surprised to find a look of disgust on her face, "Don't you want to be rich?" she asked. The girl shook her head, "Never! I know how rich people are. Dada told me about them. They are cruel people. They like money more than their dadas, I would never be like them!"

"Did your Dada go with them then?" asked the lady. "No way! Dada would never beg! He refused, and they started fighting. Dada went away today morning and hasn't returned yet! They must have taken him!"

 The lady went closer to her, trying to reassure the lost soul. The sun was beginning to vanish, and she wished she had a pack of biscuits to give this girl - for she probably hadn't eaten all day. Just as she was contemplating to take the girl to the nearest shop, there was a quick, fierce movement behind her. And before she knew it, a young boy had yanked the little girl away from the woman. He looked barely sixteen, and was as shabbily dressed as the girl was.

"Dada!" squealed the little girl with a tone mixed with joy and relief. But the boy did not seem pleased. "I told you to stay away from such people didn't I?" he scolded. His sister was shaking her head, "No Dada. Don't worry. She isn't rich, she was very kind to me." The boy eyed the well-dressed, posh woman with some caution. His scrutiny was disturbed by a tug of his shirt, "Did they hit you Dada? What happened?!" He turned away from the intruder and gave the little girl a huge smile. "Nobody hit me Munni! Dada found a job! And soon you will go back to school!" Little Munni was jubilant as she leaped over to hug her brother.

The woman watched the celebration in silence, holding the few currency notes that had failed to soothe the little girl. Her own life hadn't treated her well, and she wished she could trade her money for someone who genuinely cared for her like Dada did his sister.

He'd noticed that the lady hadn't left. "Can I help you?" he asked. She felt guilty for not being the one asking the same to them.  Taking out the beaded bag with the torn zipper, she said "I need this fixed."  The boy nodded and took the bag.

As he set to work, his sister sat down next to him, smiling as if she was the happiest person on earth. The woman looked at her beaded bag that cost more than what the kids earned in a day. Yet, the smiles on their faces was something she was unable to buy for herself. She knew then, that they were truly richer than the rich.

Source: Deviantart.com

Linking with #MondayMusings

To Magic, with love

Source : kingofwallpapers

 ~When the time stood still~
  ~From the parallel world~

Dear Magic (or whatever it is that you call yourself),

 Like every other child I imagined and dreamed of meeting you one day. I fantasised about it for years; about that day when you would show up and make me someone special, maybe with the letter from Hogwarts or the cupboard to Narnia. I knew you would come to make my life extraordinary just like all the lovely books and movies had promised. I waited and waited for you to surprise me, for that day when I'd start moving things without touching them, when I could fly simply by spreading my arms, when I could make the world a pretty place full of flowers and happy people.

But as I grew up, I saw how everyone was certain you did not exist, that you lived only in stories like Santa Claus did, that you were simply impossible. Call it my immaturity or naivety or whatever, but I refused to believe them. Of course, they did not know about you because they were ordinary, because you just hadn't revealed yourself to them yet. But surely, I knew that you would come to me one day. While the others waited for their Prince Charming I waited for you. No matter how much the people claimed and 'proved' about your non existence, I was in denial.

So I waited and waited with the utmost patience, and yet you weren't showing up. Believe it or not, I even dared to doubt your existence at times! I do feel a bit guilty about that, for I knew that the moment I stopped believing in you, you would never come to me at all. So I continued to wait as I grew. People didn't call me a child anymore, and I was beginning to feel cheated by you. Why was it that you were so stubborn in hiding from me? My hope dwindled with time, yet I held on. I couldn't have been wrong. It just couldn't be.

And in the end, you did reveal yourself. You did surprise me, but you made me bang my head for being so silly! Because you were always right here with me! I was so busy 'waiting' for you to show up that I hadn't even bothered to 'look' for you on my own! I found you yes, only to realize that you weren't what I thought you were.

When I close my eyes, I see you. When I close my eyes I dream, disappear and fly. I explore your world and discover myself. All along, I was waiting for you to show up in the 'muggle' world, how silly of me!  And now back in the world of the ordinary, I know when I meet others who've met you too. They have a special glow,  a vibe, a uniqueness. It is because they have magic in them- yes they have you. There is no single word that would describe what they have. Was it passion, or illumination? Talent? Intuition? Nay, it was more. I prefer to call it by your name.

I do sometimes wish that you existed in the normal world too. I could then fly in the open sky, go invisible to observe the world unnoted, travel back in time to study ancient times. But that might muddle things up and leave the world in a frenzy. It is just as well that you exist within us, hidden from the naked eye.

Life has been interesting since I found you. I would've loved to tell everybody else about you, to convince them that they could find you too if they wished. But I'm afraid they might mistake me for a schizophrenic and shove the thought off. It is best when they figure it out on their own.

As for you, I'm sure there are many out there who believe in you too.  Do give them a nudge before they give up on you. And thank you for not letting me down. You've showed me that everything is not what it seems. You've showed me that it isn't the world around that has the magic, but it will seem so if we ourselves have a touch of magic.

And dear, you've showed me that you are not about the fairies or wands or the spells. You are our perception that can see the extra-ordinariness in the ordinary that the others fail to see.

I'm glad to have been faithful to you, and I believe we still have many an adventure ahead of us. Looking forward to all that there is yet to come. Until the next time, I stay here bewitched.

Yours enchanted-ly,
~A Wandering Mind~

Inspired from the #FridayReflections prompt 'Imagine you have a touch of magic, and can make impossible things happen. What would you do?'
Also linking with Finish the Sentence Friday on the prompt -  “When I close my eyes, I see…”

I Am Enough - #FridayReflections

Source: wallpaperswide.com

The room was crowded save for a few seats. The club secretary was on the dais with the mike, commencing the function with the usual pleasantries. I scanned the rows full of familiar faces, looking for someone who might remember me. Of course, being regular in the club did not mean I met up with people. I only tagged along with my parents, it being daddy's office club.

Soon enough a girl in a pretty lehenga rose from among the crowd. She was walking up to the stage just as a thunderous applause erupted from the audience. Of course, everyone knew her. She was the star kid in there; the dancing damsel who won the national scholarship. Excellent singer too. She never failed to dazzle the crowd with her voice, and here she was on stage with a promising performance yet again.

Next to where she had been sitting were three other girls around my age. Silky hair, dangling earrings, stunning dress, they had it all. I could tell they had their own performances lined up after the damsel on the dais. Taking the only extra seat nearby, I gave them a candid wave. The one next to me beamed, "Oh hey there, how' you doing?" "Great!" I reply, " And you? Got any group programme coming up?"
"Ah yes we had a fusion dance all set up but it turns out they can't play the song here, technical issues."
"Ohh...that's sad. So all of you singing?"
"Yeah, I'm up next."
"Oh great."
"Yeah!"
And that was the end of the conversation. For the next fifteen minutes I sat pretending like I was keenly listening to their conversation when truthfully they were simply oblivious to my presence.

It was nothing new. They were close, just not with me. I was out of place here. I did not sing. There was this once when they made me, and my cacophony left them convinced never to call me up on stage again. And I did not dance, unless they wanted a flimsy, wobbly joker to laugh at. And I did not have pretty skirts or dresses to adorn on these so called parties. I was not like them. I was not enough.

One party after another, I would sit there with the gang quiet as can be with occasional queries from people- "But dear, why don't you dance? Then surely you must sing?" while I go, "No aunty I don't." with the politest smile possible. Sometimes I thought I noticed some pity in their eyes. Not surprising was it? Because I was simply not enough.

Until that one day when things changed. It was the annual day and they had competitions, one among them being the poetry recital. I was excited, for here was finally a chance to perform! I had my favourite poem ready, and recited it with all my heart in my very own way. They aah-ed and ooh-ed as I sang my lines. They patted my back and shook my hand. And many times more I returned to the stage.

Eventually they ceased asking me why I did not sing. Instead they asked me, "Dear, did you write anything new lately?" And for me, that was enough.

I saw the pity in their eyes vanish with looks of pride. Certainly I did not sing or dance. But I wrote, and it made up for all else. I was the writer in the club. And yes, I was enough.

Linking with Write Tribe's #FridayReflections on the prompt 'I am enough' -Brene Brown 

I Too Have A Blog Story

Beside a nicely furnished wall embellished with widgets of varying kinds sat a young girl who was considerably proud of it. She would be of course, since it was her own creation. The dash of yellow and brown all over wasn't exactly her plan, but it somehow ended up that way and she liked it too. One would think she had a special taste for shades of brown, but she loved violet and purple more. Unfortunately, those colours did not go quite well with the design.

In this self-crafted wall of hers, she had begun exploring herself, letting her mind wander to discover wonders she couldn't have fathomed otherwise. And each time she reached such a trance, the only word that escaped her lips was.... wow!

And so up above on her wall, was its crown yielding the words, 'Wandering Wows'. People usually called it her 'blog', but she preferred to call it her home. Over the months, she watched strangers come and peek in. Some days nobody came. At other days dozens showed up. A very tiny fraction of them were so kind as to tell her how much they liked her 'home', and she couldn't have been happier. But then it was so rare that it almost seemed unreal. She didn't know what was wrong...

Until one fine day, she was directed from the central library of Google to a city called IndiBlogger. In no time she was furnished an identity card for her IndiBlogger citizenship. Feeling immensely elated and slightly proud, she stepped foot in this so called blogger city, and was she spellbound! For before her were hundreds of thousands of walls like hers, only much bigger, and much much prettier!

 Excited as she was, she rushed over to the first wall before her. But she came out soon enough disappointed, for that wall told her things she did not care to know. So she tried the next one, and the next, and the next. But none simply matched her genre or likes. She knew she had to visit other people's walls. Google had told her to, else she wouldn't grow. And she wanted to grow. But soon enough she'd figured out exactly what to do.

Standing at one end of a long row of walls, shoe laces and hair taut, she was ready. In one swift jog across the street, her plan was to call out to every blogger on the way that she loved their blog and ask them to please visit hers. She would then fling her card with her address at each stop, hoping they'd pay a visit. Them bloggers shall be happy for the compliment, and she wouldn't have to read any of the walls she did not like.

And so the next day she sat beside her home again and waited. Maybe a couple more people did stop by that day, but she couldn't tell. Perhaps the people out there weren't kind enough to visit? But she wasn't one to give up, and so once again she jogged her way across a different street.

She ran an extra mile this time, and stumbled upon a wall she felt unusually attracted to. It wasn't a part of the plan, but she paused her jog and sat down. She read through the whole wall, and for the first time wasn't bored. It was her first, it was special, and surprisingly she wanted more. Along the side bar was a door to the 'Archives', and that was where she spent the rest of the day.

The next day she returned to the same wall and read some more, forgetting for a while about wanting to lure people to her own space. She'd noticed the hundreds that came to this wall everyday, some of whom constantly exchanged brilliant ideas. But she was too shy to speak. She followed the familiar faces to their own walls instead, and found herself engrossed in them too.

With time, as she explored new cities and streets, she marveled at the immensity of what they called the 'Blogosphere'. All this time she hadn't known the multitude of what she was now a part of. All that she knew was that nobody even knew she existed.

Whilst she remained a nobody, she learned. She learnt that the continent of Social Networks had a flourishing trade with the Blogoshpere, and so she began her own business from the centres in Twitter and Facebook. She learnt that the Blogosphere had intriguing activities at different places, so she made her presence in them hoping to make some friends. She learnt that she was still a novice awed by the amazing bloggers out there constantly proving their talents, and she vowed to try her best to be like them one day.

And as she learned, she had her wow moments now and then. Like when the visitor count shot up from ten to a hundred. Like when some veteran bloggers she hugely admired dropped by. Like when some people began exchanging ideas with her too. And like when some remembered her enough to return for more. She'd realized that she had evolved from a 'nobody' to a 'somebody'. It wasn't very great she knew, but at least it was a start.

 At present, this 'somebody' girl with a wandering mind had the courage to carry on. She knew that no matter what happened in her 'real' world, she would always have this home in the Blogosphere to return to.

Because by now, a part of her soul was within Wandering Wows, perhaps her first horcrux. And with that she could wander along with the whispers of her vagabond mind, until the very end.